For Five Years
by Elcyion Pitye
Summary: With her last breaths, she parts with her hand in his. Won 2nd place at the 2010 UlquiHime Summer Fest.


**Spoilers:** Alludes to Chs. 353-354, but nothing very specific.

**DISCLAIMER: **_Bleach_ and its characters belong to Tite Kubo, Shounen Jump, etc. Songs involved belong to those who rightfully apply; not me. Everything is only used for non-commercial purposes.

. .

**Author's Note:** _This is an entry for the BA UlquiHime FC/UlquiHime LJ community's 2010 UlqiHime Summer Fest. _

_I really... __really__ had a hard time coming up with a proper entry that wasn't a companion/sidestory piece to __And We'll Love, And We'll Hope, And We'll Die__. This suddenly came to mind one night when I was in a sad-story mood. Summertime is supposed to be full of happy sunshine, crystal blue waters, and refreshing cold slushies, but well... I came up with this instead. XD ... Oh, well._

_This isn't the best thing I've written, but I did all I could. orz ... Please be gentle? Lol.  
_

* * *

**[ For Five Years... ]**

_**by Elcyion Pitye

* * *

**_

Inoue Orihime never admitted it to anyone, in all of the five years since her kidnapping, that she dreamt of someone other than Kurosaki Ichigo, her usual knight in shining armor; the heroic shinigami she once swore she'd love for five lifetimes; the man who was the first to save her from the nightmares of Hueco Mundo.

However, these dreams were not nightmares. In fact, they didn't scare her at all. There was no plot, no circumstance, nor did they make clear sense in her mind's vision, but there were a few details she remembered, such as a deep, silky voice and a fleeting instance of emerald green eyes.

It was the man known as Ulquiorra Cifer, her once heartless captor. The mental images of him clung to her mind like a constant reminder of something, but she didn't figure out what it was until now...

The heart; and forgiveness.

And most of all, an unsatisfying end.

She had seen death before, but never had anything affected her so much until the day the last remnants of him literally slipped through fingers. It was heartbreaking, seeing the stunned, sad look of understanding as she held out her hand to him in redemption, only for him to erode away in the next second.

And now, she was hanging on to life with that same vulnerability. If a gentle touch caused him to fade away like that, then a misstep or an accidental something else could end her right there.

Because she was now taking her last steps on Earth, alone on a darkened bridge in Karakura Town on that hot summer night. It was a scenario she never would have dreamt of five years ago, but it was a painful reality. Orihime had defeated her enemy, pridefully, without the help of her comrades, but not without taking a dire hit. Even so, she was inwardly glad to know that she did not take part in the war in vain or on the sidelines.

She clutched her abdomen, but as she held her hand over her ghastly, gaping wound, blood seeped through her fingers like red ribbons spilling to the ground, trickles of crimson intertwining like red strings of fate. The pain only grew as she lowered herself to a crawl. The piercing, crippling sensation of her injuries fogged her senses.

She had grown too weak to heal herself. Even if she had the strength and both mental and physical will to call her fairies, it would not be enough. She was a goner.

Her head light and dizzy, and her limbs limp like jelly, she finally collapsed face-down, the hollow _thump_ of her weight on the sturdy wood barely making a sound. With a heavy groan, she rolled over, her glassy eyes roaming the summer night sky like she was searching for something beyond her comprehension.

No; like she was drinking in the view of the speckled endlessness of twilight blue for the last time.

Her breathing began to softly slow, and Orihime found her pools of ashen gray drifting to the moon, a bright, ironically luminscent crescent in the sky. It had been another part of her dreams... only the moon in them never changed phases. It always stared back, watching her like the Earthian one was doing now.

Was she going to die alone? Left with, out of all things, memories of a pivotal point in her life five years ago, rather than the friends she fought for? Memories that never ceased to rewind and play over and over in her dreams?

_He_ haunted her, like a silent ghost that watched her every move with reflective pools of doleful emerald. She still felt his powder-white fingers at her eyes, innocently questioning emotions she held so dear. And like a Shakespearean tragedy, she remembered, most of all, those same slender, battle-calloused fingers reaching for her. In a way, they desperately grabbed for a second chance. While he had voiced that he was ready to be defeated, content with fading away with a warrior's honor, Ulquiorra had also silently wished, in those glassy green eyes, to hold on to a more tender part of life; the heart and everything it contained.

Namely, hers.

And she knew, that somewhere deep inside of it, she would have taken the first step in forgiving him. And eventually, she would have taught him how to feel.

_If only things had been different..._

A breeze passed, refreshingly cool against her saltily glistening skin on that summer night. But despite that, it grew colder, and she grew more tired. By now, the pain had become not even a dull ache, but simply a part of her being. Moreover, she felt light and airy, quite contrary to how she felt when she initially approached the bridge: heavy, dense with fatigue, and blinded by pain. Her vision no longer took her world around her into perfect shape; the sharp images of the sparkling dots and the crescent moon in the sky now looked like blue-violet smudges.

Perhaps she has reached a gray area; a blur between the waking world and dreams, but she did not fight it; even if she had the strength to, she did not wish to struggle against such a peaceful sensation.

Was this it? Was this where she passed over? Was this feeling what indicated her final leave?

It was in this haze when she heard a voice call her, a melodic baritone she had grown accustomed to.

_"... Are you afraid, Woman?"_

Despite everything, she saw this quite clearly: a pale, masculine hand reaching out to her, welcoming her to a place from whence he came.

In response, Orihime lifted hers, weak but sure. "No," she found herself mouthing with blood-cracked lips, too weak to make herself audible. "I'm not afraid... Ulquiorra."

She didn't question what she didn't see, but _felt_ what was happening, but she was ready. She didn't fear him, nor anything he had to offer.

A pair of large green eyes materialized, watching her with a sad, awed gaze, one that made her heart excruciatingly twist and sink a million times over; a familiar scene that haunted her for five years while she slept.

But now, he was as clear as the day it unfortunately happened. And he was looking at her this way for a different reason.

His hand lowered to her; hers rose up. And after what felt like a slow eternity, five years of wishful thinking and bittersweet unfulfillment, their fingers finally touched. Her empty desires of rebirth for his remorseful soul had, in a way, come true.

His hand held hers warmly, solacingly with surprising serenity; as if he knew this was the last physical contact she would have as a human.

Orihime didn't know if it was an intense dream, a beautiful hallucination, or if it was an odd, but real image before her, but she felt comforted all the same. Even in the face of death, her dreams found their way to her.

_"You fought well, Woman."_ The tone of his voice was even and monotonous, but there was a spark of proud amusement underneath it. However, he hid it as if trying to mask an emotional inflection, consciously keeping a glimpse of his secretly softer side withdrawn. But for her, it was so easy to see.

"You watched me?" she whispered, her voice faint as her eyes fluttered closed.

_"For five years."_

Through the darkness of her shut eyes, she felt a warm, soothing breath against her ear; like he was whispering right into her. Even in the heat of that night, she felt increasingly cold, but it was his hand covering hers that kept her from becoming a shivering mess.

_Five years...?_

A number of questions crossed her mind. Why was he fascinated by her all this time, even when he lived? Why did he choose to watch over her? Was she really holding his hand, or was this some vivid dream?

Was he waiting for her in Soul Society?

As she let out her last breath, she realized that she would just have to find out for herself.

* * *

_I left it open-ended on purpose._

_If you want some music to go along with this, try "Heaven's Song" by S.E.N.S... I had it playing while writing this. It seemed appropriate for Orihime's death: light, ethereal, and quiet. Also, Core of Soul's "Rinne Tensei."_


End file.
